


beastly

by danequartz



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Werewolf Dragonborn, also first fic uploaded woohoo, balgruuf is Highly Uneasy, nord dragonborn - Freeform, not that that really matters, well half nord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 17:57:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16858687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danequartz/pseuds/danequartz
Summary: Jarl Balgruuf's thoughts on seeing Rowan transform.





	beastly

**Author's Note:**

> I rarely write something coherent enough to feel comfortable posting, but managed to feel satisfied enough about this.

Jarl Balgruuf had seen a werewolf, once, during his early years in the Legion.   
  
His squadron was to be stationed in a village south of the Imperial City for a week’s time in an attempt to scare off some bandit raiders. They weren’t as numerous as in Skyrim, but they were still troublesome when they appeared, especially when in numbers.   
  
Balgruuf had long forgotten the name of the village, and if he were being honest, the assignment in his youth didn’t thrill him, nor did the two-day long walk to get there, but he would never forget the moment he saw the beast.   
  
It was in the second half the day, the sun having passed its peak already, and he was dragging his feet perhaps a little more than was strictly necessary. Balgruuf was of the mind that is was only by sheer luck that he survived the monster’s first blow, having been absentmindedly swinging his sword at his side, and had barely gotten it up at time to block its claws, long as his very hand. He had been knocked to the ground flat on his back, the devil’s snarling muzzle in his face, teeth stained yellow and red with blood, saliva flying from its gums; its face was distorted, savage, patches of fur missing to reveal sour and stretched skin, a wolf-ish visage etched with human hatred. It was a sight he would be expected to see in the deepest pits of Oblivion, not the sunny, oak-dappled footpaths of Cyrodiil.  
  
His squadron leader had practically tackled the beast off of him, driving his shortsword into its side, and the werewolf had stumbled into the path proper, letting out an unnatural coyote-shriek, rearing on its hind legs in a mimicry of human movement, snarling and spitting at his squadron. The werewolf was a horrible corruption of a human and wolf – although, looking back on the moment, it resembled more of a coyote than wolf – with spindly arms and just enough lack of fur on its body to see how human its muscle structure was.    
Balgruuf had scrambled to his feet as the rest of the soldiers yelped and drew their own swords, ready to defend themselves and each other, but unwilling to approach the werewolf itself, nor the werewolf to them.  
  
The beast eventually fled into the treeline, leaving trails of blood along trees from the stab wound in its side and deep gouges in the dirt with its claws, but at some point all signs of it in the underbrush just – vanished. The older, more experienced soldiers chased it down, but eventually came to a point where there was simply nothing.   
  
The thought of such a monster being able to wreak such havoc and then vanish without a trace was not a comforting thought, and Balgruuf found no sleep that night, nor did it come any easier in the following month.   
  
While Rowan was far from as hideously contorted as that werewolf was, looking eerily like any other alpha lupine you'd find on Skyrim's frozen tundra, her arms and hindquarters were just too long to be considered normal for a wolf, her fur too thin, her paw-fingers not short enough; her body too long. Her face was remarkably wolf-like, something Balgruuf would not question at a glance, but the more he looked at it, the more unsettled he became. It was familiar to him, somehow, becoming less natural animal with each passing second and into something he did not want to think.   
  
Her eyes were the same, he realized, his stomach curling at the realization. They were the same complex, colorless grey and earth that stared unflinchingly, too odd to be considered human, but too human to be considered beast. It was her eyes that made her familiar to him – she looked at him and held him with that same look she did while in human form, and Balgruuf knew that even if he had not seen her transform before his own eyes, if he had encountered her among the deep forests of Skyrim, he would recognize her nonetheless.   
  
It was not a comforting thought.


End file.
